


Peaked

by Adelth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Ice Skating, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Businessman Katsuki Yuuri, First Meetings, Humor, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, Love at First Sight, M/M, Not Underage, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Young Victor Nikiforov, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 14:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17327150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adelth/pseuds/Adelth
Summary: Yuuri is a businessman with an alarming soulmark. Viktor is an adrenaline junkie. They meet on top of a tall building.





	Peaked

**Author's Note:**

> The period of exclusivity for the soulmate zine is over, so here's my piece. This is actually the second fanfic I wrote...didn't take me long to jump straight into shameless smut. 
> 
> I'm going to issue a very mild CONTENT WARNING for reference to suicide. This fic is 100% fluff/jokes/smut, but Yuuri's unfortunate soulmark makes people worry.

Yuuri feels guilty every time he takes clients to dine at the lounge in Fukuoka Tower; he can sense his family’s worry radiating all the way from Hatsetsu. He’s been smothered in that loving concern ever since they’d deciphered the foreign chicken-scratch of his mark, not long after it first bloomed across his skin.

Imagine the scene: your young son bursts into the family home, babbling with uncharacteristic excitement about his new mark. His best friend has already met her soulmate, so you’re relieved he won’t feel excluded any longer. You’re not up to translating the messy script, but luckily your trusted friend Minako is around. She takes your son’s arm gladly, but then squints, smile fading. She prevaricates, says it’s too personal to reveal, her voice carefully blank.

Later she pulls you and your husband aside, tells you those indelible words read, “please don’t jump.” Your heart breaks, vividly, graphically; you feel it fall and shatter against the ground. After taking a moment to adjust everyone smiles, reasons that it’s not what it looks like, anticipates laughing once the truth plays out.

Still, Yuuri senses the fear they can’t entirely squash or hide. It’s in the softly spoken words and always attentive gazes. The latent anticipation of impact follows him like a shadow.

Look, Yuuri is reasonably sure meeting his soulmate will be totally innocuous. He’ll accidentally cut in front of someone in line, they’ll admonish him not to jump ahead. He’ll get drunk at a concert, climb on stage, and someone will stop him from trying to crowd-surf.

He won’t be about to throw himself off a building. He has anxiety, and his mother had  _cried_ over that development, but mostly it makes him want to stay in bed and never show his face again. He isn’t made of glass; he wishes he could make people believe that.

It’s why he couldn’t bear to stay in Hatsetsu, why he never talks about his mark, and probably why he keeps taking clients to Fukuoka Tower. He feels a certain kinship towards the seaside landmark, a slender mirrored tower nonetheless engineered to withstand earthquakes and high winds. He comes here when he wants to feel brave, when he’s dealing with people or tasks he’s intimidated by, when he needs to stand 120 meters above the city and prove he’s  _fine_ _._

All in all, he comes here often enough to be friendly with most of the staff. Young Minami-kun even offers to let him onto the roof for the real experience, if he’d ever care to stick around while they’re closing up. Yuuri shivers a little at the thought, but feels compelled to accept on principle.

He’s shy, nervous, and introverted; sheer contrariness is the only thing that lets him succeed in the business world. It drags him through a service door, between the struts of the radio tower that juts another 100 meters into the sky, and out towards the ledge where roof slides into open air.

He sweats and shakes as he goes, legs trembling, mind insisting that somehow his footing is less sure than it would be at a lower altitude. He needs to go back inside.

“Can I stay here until you’re done?” he asks.

Minami nervously tells him to be careful, but lets him stay while he returns to the kitchen. He kindly props the door open so Yuuri can get back inside anytime.

Yuuri stands rooted in place, lungs slowly unlocking, mind reaching a calm blankness as he communes with the view of the city. He listens to the rushing wind, the beating of his heart, loud and close. He hears -

“Please don’t jump.”

Astonishment allows Yuuri to turn smoothly, instead of jumping out of his skin to a grisly and classically tragic demise. He stares at the apparition behind him, an unreal spectre of statuesque beauty dressed in soft pink. A silver ponytail blows behind him like a banner, while matching eyebrows are pinched cutely over remarkable turquoise eyes. His arm is half extended in concern.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” says the responsible adult inside Yuuri, rising to the surface in response to bafflement. He expects to be called on the inherent hypocrisy, but instead those eyes blow wide, mouth dropping open, hand straining harder towards Yuuri.

“It’s you,” croons the man who looks even younger as tears well in his eyes, guttural accent heavy as he breaks off into muttering Yuuri can’t understand at all. He approaches cautiously, compelled equally to do something about the crying and to see that expression up close. He’s saved from coming up with a better plan when the foreigner launches himself at Yuuri, drapes himself over his shoulders and holds on.

He’s taller than Yuuri, heavier and more solid than his waifish appearance suggests. He bends to bury his face in Yuuri’s shoulder anyway, leaving Yuuri to grasp a trim and lithely muscled waist.

“I’m so happy,” says the stranger directly into Yuuri’s ear. Then he abruptly stands straight, strong grip holding Yuuri at arm’s length. His smile is blinding, obscuring tear tracks as it overtakes his face. “Now,” he says, “tell me everything about you.”

~

The other half of Yuuri’s soul, it develops, is a Russian lunatic named Viktor who wants to climb to the top of the radio tower and take selfies. He discloses this proudly, both hands wrapped around Yuuri’s arm, as they sit together in a nook sheltered from the wind. Yuuri assumes the clinging has something to do with lingering fright over the tableau he’d come across earlier, even though Yuuri had been quick to allay that concern.

Yuuri looks at unlined skin, considers what kind of person does unconscionably dangerous things in the spirit of showing off. His inner adult returns with a vengeance. “How old are you again?”

Viktor, seeming to sense that there is a wrong answer, obliquely studies Yuuri’s face. He’s not terrible at shielding his intent, but Yuuri is a professional thank you very much.

“I’m twenty.”

Yuuri stares.

“Almost,” Viktor amends cheerfully.

Yuuri hunches forward and exhales deeply, the atomsized remains of his inner adult evacuating his body. “How close is almost?”

“No more than six months. Why? You can’t be more than, what, twenty-three?” Viktor says this with the youthful certainty of someone to whom twenty-three is a distant place of fully accomplished adulthood.

Yuuri’s beautiful, crazy, teenaged soulmate is going to kill him. “I,” he pronounces direly, “am closer to thirty than you are to twenty-three.”

“Wow, amazing!” Viktor enthuses, eyes shining. “You look so young. I guess it explains the tie though.”

Yuuri suspects he is being distracted, but really. “You’re wearing a pink velour tracksuit.”

Viktor leans in against Yuuri’s knee. “It’s Gucci,” he says, and pulls one of Yuuri’s hands to smooth across the front of the jacket when Yuuri fails to take the appropriate course of action on his own. “An ‘anonymous sponsor’ wanted me to wear it, it will look great against the water in the background.”

Yuuri, hand pressed to soft fabric over hard muscle, feels phantom twitching in the place his inner adult used to be. Some more mercenary interests take note of Viktor’s ability to market himself. “You’re not seriously still thinking of going up there.”

“I came all this way!” Viktor pouts egregiously when this fails to move Yuuri, then gasps theatrically and grips his shoulders. “You should come with me!”

 _Ah_ , Yuuri understands.  _Negotiations_ _._ Open with something so ridiculous what you’re really after seems like a reasonable compromise. The trick here will be to seem amenable enough to keep Vikor talking, instead of deciding he doesn’t need Yuuri’s approval anyway.

Viktor insinuates himself closer, crawling between Yuuri’s legs. He wraps his arms around Yuuri’s midsection and props his chin against his chest. Yuuri lets him, because when he’s clinging to Yuuri he’s not trying to climb away into the sky. This ruthless takeover of his personal space is like nothing he’d ever imagined, but it's taken all of half an hour for Viktor to claim his lap as though he's politely but firmly exerting his controlling interest.

“You know,” he says, guiltless as any callow ingenue, “I’ve always dreamt of joining the mile-high club with my soulmate. It’s an easy climb to the maintenance deck, and there will be plenty of room up there.”

“Besides,” he adds, smiling entirely too sweetly for the menace he obviously is, “look how I found you. We’re meant for one another, you can’t tell me you don’t want to see the view from the top.”

Yuuri looks down at the body cradled against his pelvis, silver hair falling over Viktor’s shoulder to splay against Yuuri’s white button-down. He thinks _I don’t believe for one second there is plenty of room up there_ and  _Minami will come check on me before long_ and _V_ _iktor doesn’t really pack condoms and lube with him every time he climbs a building_ _._

He says, “234 meters is not a mile.”

Viktor just hides his grin against Yuuri’s chest, knowing he’s won.

~

Yuuri can feel the tower moving with the wind. Back-and-forth it sways, and his stomach gets left behind every time. He freezes at the top on the ladder, undone by the prospect of letting go long enough to climb onto the deck. Viktor, behind him for exactly this reason, has to pat his flank encouragingly and guide him through the short series of motions.

He finds a safety rail to grasp and squeezes his eyes shut, wondering how he’s going to get away with never moving again. Viktor crowds up behind him, presses his face into Yuuri’s hair and wraps his arms around his waist. “Don’t worry Yuuri,” Viktor says, throaty accent still surprising. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Yuuri huffs. “My family is going to kill you. And then me. And then you again.”

He imagines Viktor’s impish grin. “Might as well make it worth it then. Open your eyes.”

Yuuri does, compelled even as he flinches away from the dizzying drop. Fukuoka lays far below, the city and all the lives in it, framed by distant mountains and the sea stretching on forever. His breath catches, because -

“It’s only for us Yuuri. People walk by everyday, and even when they bother to look up, they never imagine _this_ _._ ” Viktor uses his grip to flip Yuuri around, earnest in his conviction. “Remember this feeling.”

He kisses Yuuri, lips warm and somehow not chapped. Yuuri’s mind scrambles, tries to compile and analyze.  _Is Viktor good at this? Has he done it often? Or is it just raw confidence? What will our life together be like?_   Viktor is utterly overwhelming, tongue pressing into Yuuri’s mouth for the first time up here, in contradiction to common sense and probably the law. How can this possibly be Yuuri’s other half, he’s nothing like -

Viktor breaks his train of thought, and possibly his brain, by dropping to his knees and going for Yuuri’s fly. Yuuri hates to disappoint, but despite Viktor’s enterprise Yuuri’s balls have probably retracted into his body in terror by now.

Or maybe not. Victor uses his teeth to playfully snap the waistband of Yuuri’s briefs against his stomach, thumbing the material down over his hips. Yuuri feels disconnected from the scene by sheer surreality. He’s aware of a wet mouth breathing against him before taking him in, of inexpertly covered teeth, of the fact they should probably be using protection. He grins then, sharp-edged, contemplating the mockery they’re making of  _safe sex_.

Viktor thoughtfully continues to anchor him, arms winding around his thighs, gripping at his ass. That makes him smile too, Viktor’s unabashed enthusiasm towards his body. He’d assumed a certain level of self-consciousness would be part of his life with Viktor, who’s fine features and unusual coloring would be striking even without the perfectly sculpted body. He can’t imagine being ashamed now though. Let people see. Let them watch Yuuri, in the wreckage of his bland business suit, with the prettiest boy they’d ever seen wrapped around his cock, working for that last inch like it was his fondest ambition.

 _Viktor is very determined_ , Yuuri thinks inanely as he goes for it, visibly fighting the gag. He has to pull back for breath a moment later, his hold on Yuuri’s ass tightening in frustration. There are easier ways to do this, but Viktor keeps trying to swallow Yuuri down, bobbing lower, nose almost brushing pubic hair. Yuuri has enough control to not push into it, but not enough to prevent his dick from unloading down that tight, convulsing throat.

He comes back to himself in pieces, chest heaving, head thrown back over empty space. Viktor is rigid at his feet, eyes wide.  _He’s holding his breath_ , Yuuri thinks, and realizes he’s trying not to choke.

“Oh my god, just spit.” Viktor does, and Yuuri crouches to rub his back while he coughs. “I’m sorry,” he says, stroking Viktor’s pale throat concillatorily. “That wasn’t very polite.’’

“That’s okay,” says Viktor, voice rough but smiling again. “I like surprises.” He leans into Yuuri and kisses his cheek, sweet in a way that signals danger. “Besides, I know how you can make it up to me.”  

~

Later, Viktor will post two pictures at once _._ This is unusual, because Viktor understands limiting supply. The first is typical of one of his ascents, taken from the apex of the structure. He looks relaxed and comfortable; his jacket is unzipped, his pants slung low across his hips. Both his black crop top and defined abs are shown to great effect.  _“Pretty in Pink_ _at Fukuoka Tower, Japan”_ says the caption.

It’s the other picture that’s unusual, because Viktor is neither alone nor balanced in some obviously precarious way. He’s taken a POV shot of himself being carried, bridal style, the ground visible far below his swinging feet. Viktor has one arm slung around his suited companion’s neck and is giving the camera a triumphant thumbs up. _“This is mine!!!”_ the caption proclaims.

When Yuuri questions whether he’s asserting possession of his body or the sky itself, Viktor just elbows him affectionately. He never does worry that Yuuri might be too fragile to withstand him.

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to make this a standard age-swap where Viktor was 23, but he kept getting younger every time I watched a video of someone climbing a skyscraper. I have to believe that's a young person's game. While Fukuoka Tower is real, this representation isn't entirely faithful, particularly bits about the roof (which is sloped) and the restaurant (which technically exists but isn't the kind of place you'd take clients to impress them.) 
> 
> My tumblr is [here](https://adelth.tumblr.com/), come say hi if you want. I mean, I don't blame you if you've abandoned tumblr by now, but I'm still waiting to see where fandom will coalesce next.
> 
> Feedback is welcome, if you're so inclined, and thanks for reading.


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